


Soleil

by Bleed_Peroxide



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Female Warrior of Light - Freeform, Love Confessions, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26859118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleed_Peroxide/pseuds/Bleed_Peroxide
Summary: Somewhere down the line, admiration had turned into something sweeter, something fonder. She hesitated to apply a label to it; committing a word to it was akin to giving it power, despite the fact that the energy of their interactions had changed notably. Not necessarily a frightening thought in and of itself, but the thought that it was a one-sided matter...Well, Y’aiba would still be needed in different parts of Norvrant. It would be quite easy to make herself scarce if her sentiments were met with disgust.[ F!WOL/Alphinaud requested by someone who wishes to remain unnamed! ♥ ]
Relationships: Alphinaud Leveilleur/Warrior of Light
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Soleil

**Author's Note:**

> I was requested to write a piece with their Warrior of Light and Alphinaud. They will remain unnamed per their wishes, given that pairings with the twins and/or others of their kind remain (needlessly) controversial. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this! I've never written for a WOL that isn't my own, nor with Alphinaud, so this was quite a treat. Thank you so much for your patience with my slow writing process -- I hope it was worth the wait for you! :)

“They have _taverns_ , Aiba. There’s no need to do all this,” Alphinaud whined, holding up a still-wriggling worm for emphasis. Grimacing, he speared the poor creature on a bait hook and handed it to the Miqo’te. 

Y’aiba raised an eyebrow, skeptical as ever as she attached the bait to her fishing line. 

“You said you wanted fish, did you not?” 

Alphinaud only offered a frustrated sound, teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he seemed to struggle to articulate his misgivings - most unusual for someone so eloquent. Giving him the time to find his words, Y’aiba shifted her focus to the placid ocean before them. Her eyes seemed to have noticed something that Alphinaud was blind to - with a satisfied flick of her ears, she aimed her fishing rod into the waiting waters. 

From behind her, she could hear the shuffling of cloth. Sparing him a curious glance over her shoulder, she saw him pick up the pillow he’d been sitting on and close the distance between them as he perched a fulm closer. He had been vocal about not wanting to get damp sand on his clothing, but she permitted herself the fantasy that perhaps sentiment had outweighed pragmatism. 

She noted how his body visibly relaxed as he sat next to her, as though her presence itself were soothing. 

_Perhaps not sentiment so much as a sense of familiarity_ , she wondered. 

The boy had been alone in the unfamiliar wilds of Kholusia for over a year before the Exarch had successfully brought her to the First, buoyed by little more than vague hope that he might eventually see a familiar face. She watched her allies fall one by one over several months on the Source - Y’aiba could scarce fathom the loneliness of learning the ways of an alien world with naught but one’s own company for _thrice_ that long. 

Those weeks on the Source, it was like a pall had been cast over the Rising Stones. The sight of her friends’ empty bodies, laying quiet as corpses, had been almost too much to bear. She thought she’d grown used to the sight until Alphinaud had followed after. She’d spent many a night in the ward keeping watch over him. When his stillness was too much, she held a loose thread over his lips, watching it flutter with tiny breaths that scarce made his chest rise. She had never seen him look so pale, so utterly and damnably _still_. 

In the safety of his coma, she indulged herself in giving form to words left far too long unsaid. Feeling far too much like the confessions one might offer the dead, she sternly told herself that such honesty was merely a rehearsal. 

Y’aiba refused to acknowledge that one typically did not rehearse that which they did not find terrifying nor of great import. Nor did she want to agonize over naming the peculiar shift in the air between them, lest the word choke her and render her mute entirely. Let Alphinaud, ever the scholar, fret over the semantics of it if he so desired. 

_It_ , of course, being that nebulous pull between them that had grown nigh impossible to ignore. 

Shaking her head minutely, she reined in her errant thoughts and focused on the task at hand. 

Fishing. That’s right. 

_Focus, Y’aiba._

“I was simply saying that I missed the braised pipira from Ul’dah,” Alphinaud continued, oblivious to the thoughts running through her head. “That wasn't a roundabouts way to suggest that you should waste your time fishing.”

She knew that, of course. But there had been something so quietly homesick in his statement that she had felt compelled to ease it however she could. She could fish, she quite enjoyed fishing, and she was quite _good_ at it. It was only logical that it was her duty to resolve the problem, given how spectacularly she had failed to do so in her absence.

“I know that, Alphy, I just…” she started. 

She knew the thought was ridiculous. Alphinaud would be the last to fault her when neither of them had orchestrated this affair - they had a certain Miqo’te in the Crystarium to thank for that. Alphinaud was hardly a child, and could care for himself just fine. He didn’t need her to catch a fish like some stray tabby. 

Was she really doing this as a favor… or merely to soothe her own ego? Y’aiba could feel her ears unconsciously flattening against her head with embarrassment. What was she thinking? 

Alphinaud tilted his head, confusion writ clear across his furrowed brow. 

“I misspoke - I didn’t mean to say that you’re wasting your time,” he amended carefully, eyes flicking to her ears. To her dismay, the line between his brows deepened. “Yet it seems that I seem to cause offense regardless of what I intend.” 

She recognized the pause in his speech for what it was: it was the way an orator might gesture for the next speaker to take the stage. Ever the diplomat, her Alphinaud was -

 _Her_ Alphinaud? Since when? She felt her stomach sink a bit. She didn’t have the luxury to examine that now, not with such watchful eyes upon her. 

When it seemed an answer was not forthcoming, the young Elezen sighed and pulled a book from his satchel. Flipping through its pages, he found where he must have last left off. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” was all he said, before turning his gaze to the pages.  
  
Frowning, Y’aiba returned her gaze back to the ocean. Every now and then, she felt a fish bump curiously against the line, but it seemed the marine life here was slow to bite. With little to occupy her thoughts, they once again shifted to the very thing she had been trying not to dwell upon. 

Stronger than friendship and deeper than mere attraction, this tender thing was between them…. though Y’aiba would be lying if she claimed that neither colored that unnamed energy. She had always found the boy charming in his own way, though admittedly he had been more of a peripheral presence until they had been forced together during their exile in Ishgard. From the Coerthan chill, the beginnings of affection had taken root between them - and much to her surprise, had blossomed ever since. 

Within those years, her Alphinaud had grown from a cocksure neophyte into an assured young diplomat, weaving his way through the world with the ease of a man twice his age. There was much to be said of the pleasure of watching someone completely in their element, and if the admiring glances of Thancred and Estinien both were any indication, it would seem that she was not the only one to believe so. 

However, _their_ sentiments clearly stopped short of the kind that made her own heart flutter with more excitement than necessary when he offered her a shy smile. Her own sentiments compelled her to hold his hand within her own as she held a vigil in the Rising Stones, wishing she could infuse warmth into those frigid digits. She had glanced fondly at his fingernails, bitten to the quick, and missed the way he gnawed his thumbnail as he was lost in thought. Alphinaud would often catch himself in the act and subtly shift his fingers to tap his chin instead, glancing around to ensure his habit remained private. 

Somewhere down the line, admiration had turned into something sweeter, something fonder. She hesitated to apply a label to it; committing a word to it was akin to giving it power, despite the fact that the energy of their interactions had changed notably. Not necessarily a _frightening_ thought in and of itself, but the thought that it was a one-sided matter...

Well, Y’aiba would still be needed in different parts of Norvrant. It would be quite easy to make herself scarce if her sentiments were met with disgust. 

She felt a droplet of water fall on her nose, interrupting her train of thought yet again. 

One drop…. And then another… each falling in quicker succession, one after the other as they stained the sand a deeper shade of grey. 

It took her mind a beat to process, _Ah, it’s raining._

A moment later, and what had been a gentle suggestion of a storm became torrential rainfall, water pouring by the bucketful from the heavens. 

“The skywatcher didn’t mention rain!” Y’aiba yelled over the downpour, unable to keep the laughter from her voice. It was just her luck that the one time she bothered to check with the skywatchers, their forecast would end up being inaccurate. 

Behind her, Alphinaud let out an undignified squawk of surprise at the sudden change in the weather, followed by a rather crude curse against Thaliak that she chose to ignore. 

Luckily, she had not brought many items with her, as this was meant to be a rather quick trip to get some fish and - in her more romantic visions - a reprieve for the two of them. It was easy work to pack up her fishing pole and bait into her knapsack. 

She watched as Alphinaud curled protectively over his book, though given the smudged pages, it was already beyond saving. She would have found it rather cute, had she not noticed said gesture paired with trembling limbs, despite the summer clime and humid coastal air. 

While _she_ had a healthy immune system, Alphinaud was worryingly susceptible to colds when the weather turned foul. Unfamiliar as she was with the flora of this land, she couldn’t simply make a remedy if the boy fell sick.  
  
Not that he would say so; he would sooner go to his deathbed than admit such a thing. 

“Alphy! Hurry up before the rain washes you away!” Y’aiba called over the downpour, slipping a few times in the mud as she started running up the hill. “Stilltide’s just over there!” 

“I know that, Aiba!” he retorted. “Who do you think showed you where the bloody inn was?” 

Waiting under the shelter of a large boulder, she laughed (and then tried not to) as the young Elezen in question staggered after her, still curled like a leaf around that book of his. His dhalmelskin boots were made for the hard soil of Kholosia, providing no traction in muddy ground. His water-logged braid simply slid from its usual spot over his shoulder and onto the tome instead, adding insult to injury. 

He looked like a drowned rat, miserable as he was adorable. 

“I’m glad you find this funny, Aiba!” he shouted over the rain. He cast one last look at the ocean behind them before putting more gusto in his step, nearly outpacing Y’aiba. For her part, she couldn’t help but cackle as the pair ran to The Leaky Keel with the grace of newborn fawns. 

Bursting into the doorway, the innkeeper pointed a finger and said, “Not a step further! I’ll not have you tracking mud in here!” 

Before the two of them could argue, the Elezen tossed fresh towels at the pair and added with more warmth in her voice, “Get yourselves dried off before you catch a chill. I’ll make you some tea in the meantime. I know Alphinaud’s preferences by now. Would you like some sugar and cream, or do you prefer it plain, miss…?”

“Y’aiba,” the Miqo’te answered. “I’m rather fond of sweet things, so…” 

The innkeeper laughed and started digging through the shelves behind her. “Name’s Lecitte, by the way. None of that _ma’am_ business. And since not everyone can have the lad’s _refined_ tastes, I’ll get you fixed up with some cream and sugar.”

Alphinaud glanced at the ceiling, the slightest hint of pink on his cheeks, but otherwise didn’t rise to the bait. It seemed it was an old taunt between the two. He did, however, surreptitiously check his pockets, no doubt to pay for the cost of the drinks.

Not even turning around, Lecitte said without missing a beat, “Come now, Alphinaud. I have yet to charge you for food and lodgings.”

She cast a glance at Y’aiba over her shoulder, lips curling into something mischievous. 

“Ah, but of course, you want to be a gentleman and pay for your girlfriend.” 

Alphinaud’s face deepened to a brilliant shade of scarlet, from the roots of his hair to the tips of his ears. He stammered out what must have been a rebuttal of some kind, to which Lecitte waved it off and continued, this time speaking to Y’aiba, “He’s done quite a lot for us here, you know. He’s more than paid any fees he could possibly incur.”

Alphinaud was _definitely_ avoiding both their eyes now. He instead kept his gaze to the towel, wringing the water from his braid with more force than was necessary. 

Y’aiba tried to smile at him, but the younger Elezen adamantly refused to look at either of them. “So I’ve gathered,” she answered. “Not that he’ll admit such a thing. He can’t handle a nugget of praise, even when he’s fully earned it.” 

Lecitte placed a steaming mug on the counter before Alphinaud, who took it with a shy nod of gratitude. He kept his head lowered as he took a sip, shielding his face beneath his bangs - but his ears were still redder than a cherry. 

Once Y’aiba finished drying off, Lecitte handed her a mug. Resting her chin on her hand, the older woman said with a smile, “You know him well. I take it you two go a while back.” 

Taking a sip of the tea, she let the taste settle on her tongue. It was more decadent and sweet than she would have expected of something that Alphinaud drank regularly. With the addition of cream and sugar, the flavor was similar to lemon pound cake. Considering how fond Alphinaud was of face-twistingly sour candies, she could see why he enjoyed it plain. 

“Years,” Y’aiba answered, after taking a few more sips. “But we were separated for quite some time.” 

Lecitte nodded. “I always got the sense that he missed someone quite dear to him, though it felt rather heartless to ask. Now I can see how much the boy lo-”

Alphinaud set his mug down on the wooden table with more force than necessary, causing both women to startle. 

“That is _quite_ enough!” he cut in, anger bleeding into his voice. “If you wish to discuss me as though I’m not even here, I’ll be happy to take my leave and retire to my room for the night.” 

With that, the boy turned on his heel and marched to the guest rooms, breezing past without so much as a look their way. Tellingly, his ears were still crimson at the tips.

Y’aiba sighed, taking a long draught. Once again, the very topic she had wanted to avoid had all but been thrown in his face - and if his reaction were any indication, he did not feel inclined to discuss it. 

_Well, that makes two of us,_ she mused. Whether or not the reasons for their respective silence were the same, however...

“You can bring that if you'd like,” the older woman suggested, gesturing at the mug in Y’aiba’s hands. “I find that some discussions flow better with a bit of tea between them.”

It took Y’aiba a moment to recognize it as the gentle dismissal that it was. Cradling the mug like a lifeline, she followed in Alphinaud’s wake and tried not to ponder what exactly Lecitte meant as she called out “good luck!” behind her. 

Stepping into the room, she saw that Alphinaud was sitting at the edge of the bed, face notably less flushed and anger gone from his features. He looked up at the sound of the opening; to Y’aiba’s relief, the expression on his face was one of warm surprise.

She turned to close the door behind her - kind as Lecitte may be, there were some conversations that need not be heard by foreign ears. All the same… the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place felt somehow heavier, laden with significance. 

Y’aiba perched next to him on the bed, sipping more of that lemon tea to buy herself time to think. He was the conversationalist, not her. Yet Alphinaud kept his gaze to his fingers, resolutely mute and endlessly fascinated by the non-existent dirt under his nails. 

The silence stretched, taut like a stretched band. Both had grown accustomed to long stretches wherein conversation lulled naturally into nothing, but even that, too, had been replaced by wordless gestures towards the scenery or an inquiring head tilt as to where to go next. 

_This_ was a heavy, pregnant quiet as both parties struggled with unspoken words railing against their teeth. 

She felt like an utter fool. Alphinaud had made an idle remark about missing one element of their home, so her response was to waste both their time fishing in a futile effort to placate him. It had felt like a reasonable response at the time, yet it was clear that she was dancing around the real issue: guilt, and for once, a maddening inability to swiftly make amends. 

_You weren’t there when he needed you._

_He was alone for six months._

_He spent all that time looking for you._

_What did you do, other than playing the coward and say things when he couldn't hear it?_

“I’m sorry,” she began, keeping her gaze focused on the golden liquid in her mug. She tried to smooth out the tremble in her voice, lest she lose her nerve. 

“Aiba?” Alphinaud started, confusion writ clear in his voice. 

Swallowing, she steeled herself. She had practiced for months. 

“Alphinaud, I’m sorry. I wasn’t here for you. _For six months._ ” she continued. Hearing her use his given name rather than an affectionate moniker must have startled him, if the way he stiffened next to her was any indication. 

“I cannot imagine how terrifying that must have been. To know nothing and _no one_ , save the man who forcibly brought you here in the first place. To have no notion of what’s happening at home. You were alone, Alphinaud. I should have been there for you. I should-” 

Her words were cut short as Alphinaud wrapped his arms around her and nearly knocked the air from her lungs. More surprising still was the quiet sniffle that she heard, the feeling of moisture against her collarbone as it took her a moment to realize that he was _crying_. 

_Godsdammit._

Sighing, she mirrored the action in kind, hand cupping around the back of his head gently and granting him a sliver of privacy as he cried against her chest. 

It was terrible irony that this _would_ be the first time she could embrace him the way she’d always yearned to. Of _course_ she would make the boy cry when she only intended to apologize. If the day had taught her anything, it was that she had a remarkable ability to sour a situation despite her best intentions. 

“Why are you blaming yourself for that?” he said.

_What?_

She tilted her head, confusion robbing her of much more in the way of an intelligent response. 

Finally lifting his head, she was surprised to see his red-rimmed eyes narrowed at her with something she couldn’t quite piece together. The boy usually wore his heart on his sleeve, so it was unnerving that she couldn’t understand his emotions so readily. It was…. more tepid than anger, but no less intense in its sentiments. 

“Why are you blaming yourself for that?” he repeated. “Have you been acting so strangely because you feel guilty? Is _that_ what’s going on?” 

Gulping, she lowered her ears in lieu of a reply. He really was far too clever for his own good.  
  
Alphinaud let out what was probably the closest he could offer in the way of laughter. It was more of a heavy sigh that carried a hint of mirth, rather than anything close to the sound Y’aiba was accustomed to hearing. Even his smile carried a rueful note to it. 

She hated this. She hated that she was the reason he looked that way. She hated that he -

“The remark with the fish… it was truly just me thinking aloud. Perhaps a bit mindless in retrospect, knowing as I do now the way you interpreted it. But I certainly didn’t _mean_ anything by it, least of all that it fell upon _your_ shoulders to ‘fix’ it somehow.” 

_I know that,_ she thought. Alphinaud reserved his penchant for double-speak to the realm of politics; he was always frank with her. _But all the same…_

Y’aiba added gently, “But that innkeeper… it says quite a lot if _she_ knew that you needed me here and I wasn’t. For months. That reflects poorly upon me, don’t you think?” 

To her surprise, Alphinaud’s blush from earlier returned. 

“You… I… that…” he stammered, silver tongue reduced to fool’s gold as he struggled to get his words together. Were the circumstances different, Y’aiba would have wanted to immortalize it as proof that the Scions’ little princeling could, in fact, be rendered a stuttering teenage boy. 

Clearing his throat, he valiantly trudged onwards. 

“You… you misunderstand what she meant by that. It was not so much your absence that she was remarking upon, but rather my admittedly poor way of hiding that… that…” 

His voice wavered dangerously, gulping audibly in a way that had her tightening her hold on him to anchor him. His hands clutched at the lapels on her coat, and Y’aiba prayed to Menphina that he was too distracted by his own emotions to notice the way her heart beat a staccato against her ribs.  
  
“I missed you terribly,” he admitted in a whisper. “So, _so_ much. Aiba, I felt as though I was going to go _mad_. I didn’t know if you would be brought here, despite the Exarch’s confidence that it could be done. I must confess, I felt despair I have not known since the Crystal Braves. At least then, I did not feel quite alone.”

“Alone? Alphinaud, you-” 

“Must I spell it out? Surely you can read between the lines, though I’m fairly sure that the cat’s out of the bag by now, no small thanks to Lecitte.” 

Y’aiba’s heart fluttered traitorously in her chest.

She would be a liar if she didn’t know precisely what Alphinaud was alluding to - what other reason was there for his uncharacteristic outburst?

_Now I can see how much the boy lo…”_

And there it was. The word both had avoided like shy cats, circling one another. Even in her mind she had dared not give form to it, even as she confessed to it aloud in the silence of the chirurgeon's ward. 

“Love….?” she whispered wondrously. 

Despite the crimson on his cheeks, Alphinaud met her eyes steadily and nodded. He presented a brave front, but the way he gulped upon admission betrayed his nerves. 

Y’aiba cradled the boy’s cheek in her hand, meeting his nervous gaze with a smile of her own. He leaned into her palm, the gesture seeming instinctive rather than intentional - much to her displeasure, Alphinaud remained as taut as a bowstring as he watched her expressions carefully.

“W-would that you had been awake for all times I s-said as much on the Source,” Y’aiba answered. She wanted to take it all back the moment it was upon her lips - an elusive answer if there ever was one, and a messily delivered one at that. Even Alphinaud blinked in confusion, uncertain what meaning he was intended to parse from it. 

Clearing her throat, Y’aiba tried again. 

“Had you let Lecitte finish her statement, you would have found that we feel similarly, you and I.”

The moment of realization and joy on his face was the soft light of dawn made flesh. He had always been unnaturally lovely, but upon hearing her words, he was _radiant_. It was almost ethereal, a vision of Menphina that made her understand why bards put such moments to verse.

And it was because of her. 

_I could just kiss him, looking at me the way he is_ , she mused, unable to stop herself from glancing at his mouth. 

As if reading her thoughts, his smile turned slightly mischievous. 

“Whatever your intentions, I don’t think I would dislike them,” he offered. 

It was as good as an invitation as she would ever get. Tipping Alphinaud’s head towards hers, she closed the distance between them to press their lips together. 

_Finally_ , she thought, letting out a sigh she hadn't realized she had been holding. 

In all the mushy novels she had read as a girl, kissing had always been described with veiled terms alluding to divinity. They waxed poetic about the curious cessation of time, the world slowing upon its axis courtesy of the lovers involved. 

Rubbish, all of it. 

She could still hear the soft clinking of ceramic as Lecitte cleaned mugs, or doing whatever it was innkeepers did. The sound of rain upon the window was no less rhythmic than it had been. Stilltide continued as it ever had, ignorant and uncaring of the pair within its inn. 

And that was fine, she thought. All she cared to focus upon was the sensation of Alphinaud’s lips upon hers, softer and warmer than any of her dreams had dared to contemplate. 

None had predicted the way he would sigh so sweetly against her mouth, nor how his arms would encircle her as though he had planned this all along. She couldn’t have known that he would taste of tea, the way he would whisper her name between kisses like a prayer. 

Breaking apart just slightly, she was wickedly pleased to see the slight swollenness of his lips, her little scholar slightly breathless as he looked at her with something akin to wonder. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he admitted. 

Giving him a quick peck on the lips, she teased, “You can have as many as you like, Alphy. You need not speak as if we’ll never do this again.” 

“Oh, thank gods,” he said in a rush, surprising Y’aiba as he pulled at her coat and drew her to him this time. 


End file.
